Powers That Be
by Freida Right
Summary: Three powers. Three sequences. One all-powerful talisman with the ability to create, destroy, and recreate. What they will do with it is a mystery...
1. Exert from Annuls of Paracelsus

Welcome to a study on the all-powerful Source I have been working on. The original crack-fic that started this is all of chapter 3, but I felt that it warranted an explanation. What I ultimately got was… interesting. It was entirely too good not to share with my awesome group of followers.

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_There is a true and undeniable distinction between what is called merely 'the talisman'—the object which you have now completed—and what is called 'the Source'. For while the constructed talisman is an object built by man, and can be rebuilt by any other man, the Source exists only within the man who has built it. Any clever fool may be able to construct the same talisman as any other; but the Source exists in him, and him alone._

_By joining the Source with the talisman, this inanimate object becomes, in its own way, animate. It then takes on the characters of the Source that made it, and becomes unique, itself. And while the various attributes of the human soul have been discussed in previous chapters, you may be able to imagine the possibilities a talisman with a soul joined to it may have. Indeed, its every function can be affected greatly by the caliber of the soul within. As a soul gives a man his conscience, his morals, his hopes and doubts, fears and dreams, so the Source does to the talisman._

_Hence, as the saying goes: once the talisman has been exposed to the soul of its Source, the results of use may vary from device to device. Therefore, children, use caution when executing any of its functions._

_Be it known, however, the three basic functions of the talisman remain neutral to the variances of the human soul, for their purposes are concrete and solid, each meant for one thing and one thing only. All other complex functions of the talisman flow from these first three, which are unchanging in their very nature._

_The first is the power of construction, which has been briefly discussed before. This is the power that gives life to other inanimate objects, through the talisman, which itself has been animated by the Source. While the Source himself is like the father, the animated talisman becomes like the mother through which life is projected. This function has a singular purpose, which is unaffected by the soul that has shaped it._

_The second power, therefore, is that of deconstruction. Like a mother, once again, as the talisman has the power to give life, so it has the power to take life away. Another power that is unaffected by the Source, the power of deconstruction also has a single purpose, pure and simple in its function: to bring death to any being that lives. This is an incredibly dangerous function of the talisman, and should be used and shared with extreme caution. While the talisman makes such power frighteningly available to any broken heart, such power was not originally made for man to control. Beware of temptation._

_The final power, and perhaps even more dangerous than the power of deconstruction, is the power of reconstruction. Like with the hand of death, the dimension of time is restricted from human use for obvious reasons. As if made to save the world from a foolish Source's doings, the power of reconstruction may be used once in the life of a talisman, to turn back time no more and no less than four and twenty hours, leaving the Source with full knowledge of what will happen in the future, and given him time to correct his misstep. But be warned, for the function will only work once. Use this power only under the most extreme of circumstances, weathering them if you can._

_The sequences for each of these powers follows in the next pages. Being the basic functions, each sequence is only a combination of three symbols. The combinations become more complex with the functions. However, if any of them are to be remembered, it is these first three. You must guard them with your very life, lest some philistine attempt to hijack your device and your work._

_Proceed with an open mind, to the next lesson…_

~From _The Annuls of Paracelsus _


	2. The Power of Construction

_The first is the power of construction, which has been briefly discussed before. This is the power that gives life to other inanimate objects, through the talisman, which itself has been animated by the Source. While the Source himself is like the father, the animated talisman becomes like the mother through which life is projected. This function has a singular purpose, which is unaffected by the soul that has shaped it._

~From _The Annuls of Paracelsus_

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Dark clouds were rolling in over the city. And darker days were coming. Days when no human being would be spared the ravages of mechanical warfare. And at his own hands, no less—Thomas Townsend, former State Head Scientist, knew all of this for certain.

Not even he would survive the chaos he had wrought, and perhaps, he decided, it was only fair. He longed for a way to turn back time more than 24 hours—a year and a half, at least—for a chance to try and stop the ensuing madness. Perhaps, when Paracelsus, the great teacher, had written about foolish Sources in his annuls, this was what he had meant.

The darkness of the coming days worried Thomas to the core, but little of it was for himself. Mostly, he worried about the Stitchpunks he had filled his house with. The future looked bleak enough for them. With three of his eight missing, those that remained still had to survive the next few weeks. The Chancellor was looking for him as if he were a rabid animal; Thomas had retreated into hiding months ago, to keep his precious 'punks a secret, but his old enemy was closing in.

It pained him to do it… But he had to send them away, before he was discovered, and them along with him. They were a ragtag and somewhat dysfunctional band, but their chances would be better out there, without him drawing attention to them. He had to send them. Soon.

But there was still the talisman. Thomas still needed it, but the Stitchpunks needed it back when he was done with it. He hadn't told them the long or short of his secret plans, because none of them needed to be burdened with it. But in his mind, he had already planned the ninth. The one he would animate last, who would return the talisman to them.

The ninth piece of his soul was all he had left, and it showed fiercely. His repeated use of the talisman had taken its toll on its Source like some kind of malicious drug. Thomas had once looked very well for a man of 45 years; his hair had been thick and chestnut brown, and his equally brown eyes had glittered with intelligence and calm behind his contact lenses. He had been sturdy and strong, standing at a fairly normal height, and weighing a normal, healthy weight. But today, his hair was thin and gray, receding like a neap tide, and his eyes were dull with fatigue and worry; black-rimmed glasses helped pick up the slack that contact lenses could no longer handle. His height remained, only to let his recent gauntness make him look taller and lankier than he was. Recently, he had been working too feverishly on the last two—7 and 8, the badly needed warriors—to remember to eat much.

The last piece of his soul was all that was keeping his fragile form together. Giving this last piece to the bearer of the talisman would kill him, and he knew it. But he also knew that he was doomed to die in any case, and so had come quickly to peace with that. At least in death, he could actually do something pure and wholesome for the beings he had bothered creating.

But, before he sent his creations on their way, he had to make sure they knew what to do with the talisman once 9 brought it to them. He only had time to relay so much to the soon-to-be-created bearer; he intended to give him the sequence for destruction, because there would be too much danger left in the world to leave him without a weapon. As for the other two pertinent sequences, well… He would have to leave the sequences for creation and reconstruction with the others, who would take care of the rest later.

But which one could he trust with that…?

In the end, he chose to rest his trust on 1 and 2, the elders. But he had considered what he knew of them carefully before handing them such precious information. Being the more responsible and trustworthy brother, Thomas took 2 aside one afternoon and entrusted him with the first two sequences. 2 had already studied the talisman and the book a little, and accepted the challenge happily.

"But why not the third power?" the little man wanted to know.

"The dimension of time is no place for a doctor, whose job is to heal the hurt and protect the innocent from danger," Thomas replied evenly. "And I have a strong feeling that 1 will need that power, before the end of things."

However strongly he felt about that, 1 was dubious, at best. He had done what he could to stay out of the business of his creation; it confused and baffled him, and he was unhappy to be dragged into it so suddenly.

"Turning back time 24 hours? What good does _that_ do?" he scoffed, unimpressed.

"It could do all the good in the world," Thomas answered. "I must warn you, though, that this sequence can only be used once. Remember it carefully for a day when it might be needed, but—"

At this, 1 scoffed again and turned away on his heel. "I shall _never_ find a need for your blasted tricks and dark sciences. I shall never touch that thing!"

To this, Thomas sighed a little sadly. He had expected as much out of his first and most difficult creation.

"So be it, then."


	3. The Power of Deconstruction

_The second power, therefore, is that of deconstruction. Like a mother, once again, as the talisman has the power to give life, so it has the power to take life away. Another power that is unaffected by the Source, the power of deconstruction also has a single purpose, pure and simple in its function: to bring death to any being that lives. This is an incredibly dangerous function of the talisman, and should be used and shared with extreme caution. While the talisman makes such power frighteningly available to any broken heart, such power was not originally made for man to control. Beware of temptation._

~From _The Annuls of Paracelsus_

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And so, several years passed for the Stitchpunks in silence that went from nonexistent, to relative, to complete and utter. And while 1 notably did everything he could to forget about the talisman, 2 resigned himself to keep watch. If their creator had bothered to entrust them with its sequences, they must have been destined to find it again.

As those years passed, the two brothers had many heated arguments over what had happened that afternoon—among other things, of course. They had always been at odds: an impulsive, fearful, and overly protective leader, against an equally responsible, bold, and overly protective father. It had turned out to be an anomaly that Thomas hadn't counted on, with the fickleness of the talisman to blame for it.

This led to a lot of loud, angry, and confusing arguments that left the others in their charge nothing short of terrified and bewildered.

After a year or two had passed, it was enough to drive 7 away forever. One morning, 2 woke to find his only daughter gone without a trace, say for a note leaving a blunt goodbye, and a plea to look after the twins until she could return for them. But her adopted children took it so poorly that they ran away a few days later to find her.

2 had thought to venture out and find them, bring all three of them back home where they belonged… But he stopped himself when he realized that they never truly belonged in Sanctuary in the first place. They deserved their freedom. And if they were bold enough to grab it by the horns and take it for themselves, then so be it.

Not too long thereafter, something suddenly changed drastically in 6, who had never been quite right to begin with. Whether it was great genius or abyssal insanity that drove him to paint his nightmares on every flat surface he could find, no one could say for certain. But with the flight of his big sister and his two best friends, so flew what little sanity he may have had left. After that, he only seemed to have one terrifying dream, because it was all he drew again.

And 2 noted at once that it was clearly the talisman. This excited him; it was surely a sign. 1 also noticed, and it filled him with nothing but dread.

"A sign indeed," he fumed. "A sign that the boy is definitely crazy. Get rid of these drawings at once!"

"You think you can be rid of destiny so easily?" 2 spat back, suddenly furious with his brother. Again. "It is staring you in the face, and you still refuse to see it! Open your eyes!"

"You and your fascination with his wizardry and tricks—I've never approved of it. It will bring us nothing but trouble. I want it _out_ of our stronghold before it destroys the others, like it has destroyed you. Look at what it's done to 6 already, and he's never even seen the thing! And you still believe that some good can come out of it? It is _you_ who must open _your_ eyes!"

"1, I wish I had the talisman with me now—because if I did, I would destroy you with it!"

"Well I almost wish that _I_ had it—so I could turn back time, destroy _you_ yesterday, and not have to deal with you today!"

For a long, blazing moment, they stood rigidly in silence, staring each other down, daring each other to make the next move. Not that many of their conversations ended any differently.

As the silence tensely dragged on, 2 reflected on a few things. First of all, continuing this dialogue was futile, and it was time to change direction. Second of all, Thomas had warned him about the beauties of the destruction power—the warning had come straight from the book, right from the great teacher, himself. Such power was never originally intended for mortal hands, which could do enough destruction on their own. The powers he had been entrusted with went hand in hand, and his job was to protect them. He had been expected to master his emotions and resist the temptation to use such power for his immediate desires.

His untold capacity for wrath had also been an unexpected byproduct of the talisman's seemingly simple work. Thomas had been confident that his equally seemingly simple second creation could master that. 2 wilted inside himself. He was doing a pretty lousy job at mastering that…

A bit grudgingly, he turned away from 1 and stormed back to the corner, where 6 was cowering fearfully amid his drawings. Pictures of the talisman were filing the corner with alarming speed…

"I'm keeping the drawings," he informed stormily over his shoulder.

"Fine," 1 hissed back. "Just don't let me see them again. I don't want your ill omens cluttering up my Sanctuary."

"Whatever, stupid," 2 muttered under his breath, stepping into the shadowed corner. 6 skittered out of his way as he knelt down, gathering and snatching up the drawings in a messy pile. When he looked up at the boy, his anger subsided as quickly as it had risen. 6 was shaking with fear, his googley eyes wide, terrified that he had done something terribly wrong for sure, this time. 2 couldn't be mad around him. In fact, he gave the boy a comforting smile.

"Don't worry, 6," he said quietly, patting him comfortingly on the shoulder. "I'll keep these safe for you, alright?"

Still afraid, 6 nodded wordlessly.

"Why don't you come downstairs with your brother and I, where you'll be safe?"

Again, 6 silently nodded his agreement. Still trembling, he let 2 help him up and escort him to the elevator.

As they walked, 2 looked over the amazingly accurate drawings, and surprised himself by actually remembering the sequences. It had been so long since he had seen the talisman, he had been worried that he had forgotten. He also marveled at how, in the stylized penned ink scribbles, the three parts of the device almost looked like a face. _Their_ faces. Their oddly gas mask-shaped faces. He made a mental note to study the drawings he collected in the future. Perhaps there were more signs within, little clues that 6 had recalled from his dreams, unwittingly scribbling them as he saw them.

He had a pretty good feeling that 6 had no idea what it meant, even though it plagued his sleeping. It was a good thing someone was there to make sense of it all.

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Author's Notes…

Because this story technically follows the canon set by _The Other Eyes Saga_, I've tried hard not to make this chapter sound too much like _Dying Day_. The next chapter is the last; you will see then why I described the original concept of this story as a crack-fic.


	4. The Power of Reconstruction

_The final power, and perhaps even more dangerous than the power of deconstruction, is the power of reconstruction. Like with the hand of death, the dimension of time is restricted from human use for obvious reasons. As if made to save the world from a foolish Source's doings, the power of reconstruction may be used once in the life of a talisman, to turn back time no more and no less than four and twenty hours, leaving the Source with full knowledge of what will happen in the future, giving him time to correct his misstep. But be warned, for the function will only work once. Use this power only under the most extreme of circumstances, weathering them if you can._

~From _The Annuls of Paracelsus_

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Battered and bruised, his right hand damaged beyond repair, 1 looked up and trembled at what he saw. The Machine was advancing on them with alarming speed, even though their badly depleted number had knocked out one of its mechanical limbs. And there was 9, the boy he despised, standing boldly to face it alone.

All his babbling about the talisman and the sequence and sacrificing himself hadn't been babbling. He had meant every word of it. And now he was fully prepared to meet that fate. He was about to die, and he was ready for it. Such a thing should have made 1' heart skip with joy. Instead, it was skipping with fear and anxiety.

Without this bold, knowledgeable boy, what were the remaining four supposed to do? He had left 7 in charge, knowing that 1 was in no condition to take up the reigns… But what if she couldn't do it?

As if on cue, their team's only woman ran up beside 9 and gripped his arm.

"Please," she cried out, almost tearfully. "We can't do this without you!"

His gaze and voice were calm as he took her hands in his own.

"They all died because of me. I started this, and now I need to finish it."

With a final understanding, loving look, she released him and let him run ahead to face the monster. She knew what she had to do, but she feared it more than anything. She was questioning herself—after everything she had done so bravely in her long, hard life, did she have the nerve to do this now, when the man she loved so much needed her?

It was more than 1 could stand to watch what happened next. He ducked back behind his hiding place, praying that the cobbled together plan would work, that 7 could do her part, and that 9's heroic sacrifice wouldn't be in vain. Frozen, terrified, he listened as the Machine powered up and released its soul-sucking energy beam. Then, all at once, it was silenced. The thing roared furiously, but only for a moment. As suddenly as it had quieted, the noise of the same energy beam powered up again, longer this time.

And then an explosion. The Machine went tumbling down and hit the ground so that the earth rocked all around. A cloud of dust went up, obscuring everything, covering all in its path.

Then, silence. Deep, dreadful silence.

After a long pause, 1 peered out from his hiding place, trying to see through the dust. And there amid the cloud, her white skin blazing through the dust, he found 7 alive and kneeling on the ground, weeping quietly, the talisman clutched to her chest.

So it was over and done, and she had succeeded after all. But in the process, she had lost everything.

Eventually, she rose shakily to her feet and just began walking. Somewhere in the background, the twins got the hint and wordlessly followed. 1 fell in line far behind them, leaving them a respectful distance. He hadn't the heart to bother them with his presence. He just walked behind them, wondering where 7 was headed. And after a time, he found that she had led them back to the home of their creator. To what end, he had no idea, and frankly didn't want to know yet.

The rest of the day was spent in silence. None of them had anything left to say. While the twins collapsed nearby, exhausted, 7 and 1 remained awake. Still keeping his distance, he watched her carefully as she sat alone, staring at the talisman, deep in thought. He wondered what might be going on in her head.

After a while of contemplation, she got back up and began digging shallow trenches in the ground. He wondered what had inspired to do so, and what she thought to accomplish, but he couldn't think of approaching her like this. It was a star-shaped construction, the five trenches meeting in a shallow well at the center, where she piled dried wood for a fire. Before each trench she erected a pole as tall as she was, each one bearing a scrap of cloth with the names of the Lost.

It was a rather lovely monument, and 1 watched as she worked for a few hours to make it so. He couldn't recall seeing her work so patiently, so carefully, so lovingly.

When it was obvious that she had finished, something called him forth to finally join her; apparently, whatever it was also woke the twins from their sleep. Still in reverent silence, 7 instinctively hit the same sequence in reverse.

_Construction and Deconstruction, _1 realized with a start.

One by one, the souls of the Lost poured forth from the talisman, each taking their place beside their banners. And, of course, 9 was the last to reappear. Before taking his place, he walked right up to 7 with a gentle smile. She tried to speak to him, to say goodbye, or thank you, or anything; it would be her last chance to do so. But words still failed her, and her voice caught painfully in her throat. Always understanding, he reached out brushed his glowing fingers against her face as if to say, "It's okay."

Finally, she broke their silence with a quaking whisper.

"I love you."

He pulled his hand back, touched his fingers to his lips, and then touched them against hers, the first kiss they had never shared. Then he had to back away and take his place at his banner, to ascend with the others and leave the mortal world behind forever.

In a flash, they were all gone. In their place, rain began to fall for the first time in years.

7 fell to the ground again, emotionally exhausted, and began to weep again, openly and bitterly. The promises of the rainfall did nothing to comfort her. What was a bright, shining world to her now? She would have traded it in an instant for a lifetime spent in the dry, desolate ruins, if only she could have spent it with him. It was deucedly unfair, and it was bound to be miserable.

1 had sworn he would never touch the talisman, never let himself become involved in its shenanigans that only brought doom. But he was already in as deep as he could be. He bent down and picked it up, holding it for the first time, feeling its shape and its weight. He remembered. In the front of his mind and his heart, he knew—

There was still a way out.

With the rain falling softly around him, he wandered off with the talisman in hand and sat down on a rock to think about things. If he chose to use the sequence for Reconstruction now, he could turn back time and change things. So many things had happened in the past 24 hours; a chance to take some of them back was a welcome idea. If ever there was a time to do it, that time had come. It was staring him in the face like a bright light at the end of a long tunnel.

9's heroic death had turned out almost as pointless as if he had turned and fled from that fate, leaving the monster loose to terrorize them forever. But if he chose to go through with it, change what had happened that afternoon, he knew that he would never see the outcome.

_And what am I, in his place? A broken old man, with no business taking care of the family he left behind. Has he truly died to save them, only to take away everything they had looked forward to about being saved? He was young and strong and brave, and he loved them all so much. His life was worth so much more than mine…_

The sun had almost vanished beyond the horizon. 24 hours would take him back to the previous night, when he had watched he Sanctuary burn to the ground. That was promising. Knowing what he knew now, there were a great many words he would have gladly taken back. He moved to press the sequence into the talisman, to go back in time… But his old fears still gripped him, and held him back.

For hours he sat there held in a staring contest with the device. The rain continued to patter down softly, and soon he was soaked through, but he couldn't move. It was as if the talisman had a will all to itself, battling his own, daring him to make the next move. The night wore on, and he remembered where he had been the previous night—fighting with the others, being paralyzed by another monster, trekking through the ruins after it. He could have been helpful, useful, less of a burden. But still, the will of the talisman seemed to crush his own.

The sun rose. He had held 9 back yesterday, as the Machine had destroyed his best friend. Today, he would have let the boy go to do something—_anything_—to save his friend. 1 had been so sure there was nothing to be done; but now, he wasn't as sure of that. Still, he couldn't break the staring contest.

The sun climbed higher; 24 hours ago, he had lost track of time entirely. He wasn't sure what had happened at that hour the day before. All he knew for certain was that the talisman would take him back to relive the most terrifying hours of his life now. That, and he was running out of time.

Finally, he gave the talisman a glare and scoffed at it.

"You do not control me," he informed it, and began punching the proper buttons for the sequence spitefully hard.

"I control you!"

The world spun around him, and there was a great flash. The next thing he was aware of, he was flying through the air, heat and dust spiraling around him. He fell back to the ground, coughing and wheezing, his side throbbing anew. He looked down and gasped to see his mangled hand once again. The Machine was looming after them, just as he remembered; and there was 9, standing to face it as before.

He had gone back just in time to correct his greatest mistake.

He watched with morbid fascination as the same scene from yesterday played out again. 7 dashed up out of nowhere and gripped his arm as fearfully as he remembered.

"Please! We can't do this without you!"

Just as calmly as before, he took her hands in his.

"They all died because of me. I started this, and now I have to finish it."

It was even more inspiring than it had been the first time. 1 was surer of it than anything he had ever been sure of: he was absolutely about to do the right thing. This time, he watched as 9 ran up to face the Machine, and it prepared to do its work.

"They left us nothing..." he mused. "Nothing. Why should _we_ have to right their wrongs?"

Feeling fully ready to meet his chosen fate, 1 took a deep breath and steeled himself for the final plunge.

"Sometimes, _one_ must be sacrificed…"

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Author's Notes…

Need there be any? I hope you've all enjoyed this as much as I have!


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